Empire of the Vampire

by Jay Kristoff

  “Most didn’t know what to make of me now. I was still a frailblood—the lowest of the low in a roomful of Dyvok, Ilon, Chastain, Voss. But they’d all heard of our battle with the Wraith in Red. And the first time de Séverin called me ‘Peasant,’ Aaron lifted his head from the Book of Vows he was studying, his voice velvet soft.

  “‘Leave him be, Sév.’

  “‘What?’ the big lad scoffed. ‘This lowborn boylover? He’s lucky I—’

  “‘Sév.’ Aaron locked eyes with his fellow nobleson. ‘Leave him be.’

  “Three days later, it was famdi, the day before prièdi, and as the bells rang out the dawn, I found myself already awake. Tomorrow would be a landmark day—Empress Isabella was due to arrive at the head of her husband’s army, and Aaron was to be inducted as a full-fledged silversaint. But today was special for me. I’d survived my first Hunt, and at last, was to be gifted the next piece of my aegis under the needles of the Silver Sorority.

  “As I entered the Cathedral with de Coste beside me, I saw a familiar figure among the sisters at the altar. Looking through her lace veil, I saw a beauty spot beside quirked lips, and pride in dark, shining eyes.

  “I didn’t even glance at Astrid as they bound me down, dared not give away a breath of the secrets we shared. But still, I could feel her beside me, smell the rosewater and silverbell in her hair. After twelve hours under her needles, wrapped in incense and choir’s hymn, I was near delirious with pain. But I couldn’t complain. Aaron was having his entire back inked before the taking of his vows. He’d already suffered three days under Prioress Charlotte’s needles, but now the piece was almost complete—a beautiful portrait of the Redeemer, surrounded by angels of the host.

  “I watched Prioress Charlotte work, thinking on what Astrid had said about the role women played in San Michon. How little power they actually wielded. There were a dozen sisters about us, singing exultations or wiping off blood or mixing silver and ink.

  “Who sang exultations for them?”

  “What design did you choose, de León?” Jean-François asked.

  Gabriel pulled up the sleeve on his left arm. Atop his hand was a wreath of roses. “For the perfume of her hair,” he explained. His forearm was marred by scar tissue, rends and tears etched in his skin. But under the scars on his inside forearm, armor-clad, beautiful and bright, her wings outspread like burning silver ribbons …

  “Eirene,” the historian nodded. “Angel of Hope.”

  “Such was the gift Astrid Rennier had given me. And when the deed was done, staring at that silver poetry she’d written on my flesh, I couldn’t help but voice the thought. ‘You do beautiful work, Sisternovice.’

  “‘The work we do is Almighty God’s, Initiate,’ Prioress Charlotte replied, still bent over Aaron’s bleeding back. ‘You, I, all of us are merely his instruments upon this earth.’

  “‘Véris, Prioress. But the Order could not serve without the sisterhood. Without the silver in our skin, we’d be prey for the dark. So I for one am grateful, for all you do.’ I looked around the gathering, bowed low. ‘Merci, Sisters. To you all. We are nothing without you.’

  “Astrid smiled at me then, swift and secret. The look old Charlotte gave me made me wonder if any silversaint had ever actually said that to her before. The scars on her face twisted in an almost-smile, but clearing her throat, she returned to her work. ‘You are welcome, Initiate de León.’

  “I stayed with Aaron while Charlotte put on the finishing touches. The poor bastard looked like he was hanging on by the skin of his teeth. But finally, the prioress leaned back, looking over the tattoo with a critical eye. It was a stunning piece; the Redeemer’s stare seeming to burn upon Aaron’s skin, candlelight setting the silver aglow.

  “‘Véris,’ she murmured.

  “‘Véris,’ came the reply from the sisters around us.

  “I helped Aaron to his feet as he blinked like a newborn. ‘Aright, brother?’

  “‘I need a drink,’ he declared with shaking voice. ‘A very large, very strong drink.’

  “I laughed, easing my tunic over my own wounded skin. And with a bow to the sisters, a glance to Astrid, we left the Cathedral. It was snowing outside, and after the burning pain of the needle, the chill seemed a Godly blessing. As we walked toward the refectory, my eyes drifted northward. I admit I was jealous that Aaron was to swear his vows amorrow; that he’d fight at Avinbourg as a full-fledged silversaint. But I also knew he’d earned it.

  “‘I’m happy for you, de Coste. Truly.’

  “He looked at me sidelong, words clearly fighting behind his teeth.

  “‘I owe you a debt, de León. And an apology.’

  “I shook my head. ‘You saved my skin in Coste just as I saved yours. There’s no—’

  “‘I’m not talking about Coste,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I’m talking about Baptiste and me. I misjudged you. And I mistreated you. Frailblood or no, peasantborn or no. You are my brother, de León. And I ask your forgiveness.’

  “He offered his hand, and I grasped it tight. ‘Given. Gladly.’

  “Aaron nodded, jaw clenched. I knew three days under the needle had him feeling raw. Your walls are thin after an ordeal like that, and the person you are beneath can easily leak through. But I was still surprised to see tears in his eyes.

  “‘What Laure said to us on the bridge … about Sacha…’

  “‘It doesn’t matter, Aaron. Whatever you did as a boy, you’re him no longer. Your past is stone, but your future is clay. And you decide the shape of the life you’ll make.’

  “He nodded, pawed his eyes. ‘I never thought I’d hear myself say it. But I’ll be glad to have you beside me at Avinbourg, de León.’

  “‘Beside you?’ I scoffed, patting the sword at my belt. ‘Brother, I’m going to be in front of you. I’ve got more ink to earn. And Lionclaw is thirsty.’

  “‘You’re still an idiot, de León. And it’s going to get you killed.’ Aaron shook his head and smiled. ‘But when you die, you’ll die righteous.’

  “‘But not tonight,’ I grinned. ‘Come. Let’s get you that drink.’

  “I slapped him on the back without thinking, and he cried out in agony. I gasped apology, but not quick enough, and de Coste punched me in my left arm, sending a wave of flame up my shoulder. We fell to wrestling for a moment, exchanging friendly blows before falling off laughing. And side by side, we walked into the refectory.

  “A rousing cheer greeted us as we entered, the assembled silversaints and initiates clunking tankards on tabletops. It wasn’t often a new member was set to be sworn into the Order, nor so many of us assembled in San Michon at one time. Older ’saints offered Aaron congratulations; younger bucks gathered to get a glimpse of his new ink. Frère Alonso was playing a merry tune on a set of pipes. Abbot Khalid accompanied him on a beautiful bloodwood lute, with Forgemaster Argyle leading the song in his rich baritone. And though Greyhand was conspicuously absent, Seraph Talon was thumping the table with his ashwood switch, keeping time. He even smiled at us as we entered.

  “Baptiste had saved us seats at table, beckoning us over. As we sat, the young smithy pushed a cup of vodka my way. But as ever, I demurred. ‘Not for me, brother. Merci.’

  “‘Oh, come now!’ the blackthumb insisted. ‘Puts hairs on your chest! And it’s not every day we see a new member of the Order ascend! One drink won’t kill you?’

  “‘He has his reasons.’ De Coste spoke soft, taking the cup away. ‘Leave it, eh?’

  “I looked between Aaron and Baptiste, the brothers around me. The fires were warm and the smiles wide, and I knew a night like this came not often to walls like these. I’d grown up the son of a drunkard. But in truth, I wasn’t even Raphael Castia’s son. And the curse my true father had given me wouldn’t be ignited by a mouthful of spirits.

  “‘One drink,’ I declared, reaching for the cup Baptiste had poured. ‘Won’t kill me.’

  “Baptiste cheered, and I raised the cup to Aar
on. But before I could offer a toast, there came a loud thumping from the head table. Frère Alonso stilled his music, all eyes turning toward Abbot Khalid. The big Sūdhaemi was on his feet, smiling.

  “‘Tomorrow, we welcome a full-fledged brother to the Ordo Argent!’

  “Roars rang around the room as Khalid continued.

  “‘Then, we march to Avinbourg among the Emperor’s armies, there to lay the Forever King to rest. I know each of you shall acquit yourselves with strength undying and faith unquenchable, and prove San Michon worthy of our Empress’s patronage. But for now, let us toast our new brother, and know glory in the light of the Almighty’s love.’

  “Khalid raised his cup to Aaron.

  “‘Santé, Aaron de Coste. May the dark know your name and despair!’

  “‘Santé! ’ came the roar, Aaron grinning like a child at Firstmas.

  “We feasted into the night, and when Baptiste poured me another cup, I didn’t turn it away. The drink was fine and the company grand, and I floated around, listening to the older ’saints tell stories of dark and blood and silver. I felt the love of God among that fellowship. I felt, for perhaps the first time in my life, I was finally where I belonged.

  “It was then we heard horns in the Mère Valley, bringing stillness to the hall. A few moments later, the Cathedral bells sang out in answer, echoing across the monastery.

  “‘She’s early,’ Baptiste murmured.

  “‘Empress Isabella,’ I realized.

  “The brothers and initiates rose as one, bustling out of the refectory. The honor that the Empress did us was lost on nobody, and all wanted to bear witness to her arrival, see the army she’d brought to San Michon. Gathering on the Cathedral walkway, we heard them in the dark—tromping feet and steel on steel, a great multitude in the night-black valley below. We could see thousands of torches, illuminating thousands of yellow tabards bearing the unicorn of Alexandre III. A host the likes of which I’d never seen.

  “‘Now there’s a fucken’ sight,’ Fincher sighed.

  “De Séverin nodded. ‘On golden banners, salvation comes.’

  “‘Brothers!’ Khalid called. ‘Prepare yourselves for Her Majesty’s arrival, then assemble in the Great Library! Seraph Talon, Prioress Charlotte, with me.’

  “With some a little worse for drink, the brethren obeyed, the feast abandoned. Within the half hour, we were mustered in the Library, lined up with boots polished and silversteel gleaming. The Sorority was assembled also, sisters in their blacks, novices in white. I saw Astrid among them, lips pinched tight. Chloe stood beside her, nodding once to me. But looking about, I still saw no sign of Master Greyhand anywhere.

  “The books stretched high above us, the great map of the realm at our feet. Archivist Adamo had arrayed wooden figures across the floor, representing the armies of the Forever King, the defenders of Avinbourg, and the great host mustering below.

  “The impending battle was now on everyone’s mind, and talk of it rippled among the gathering. But we fell silent as Abbot Khalid entered, marching swift to the front of the Library, Talon and Charlotte beside him. A brisk young man in courtly yellow satin entered, and beat a poleaxe upon the boards three times.

  “‘Her Imperial Majesty, Isabella, First of Her Name, beloved bride of Alexandre III, Protector of God’s Holy Church, Sword of the Faith and Emperor of all Elidaen!’”

  Gabriel shook his head.

  “I’d never seen royalty. The way Astrid told it, Alexandre’s court was a cesspit, filled with debauchery and corruption. I’d not have been surprised if the Empress was a serpent in a dress of human skin. But the woman who swept into the Library was nothing close.

  “First, I was astonished at how young she was. Emperor Alexandre was in his middle-forties, but his bride must have been twenty years younger; only a few years older than Astrid, really. She was beautiful to be sure: long-limbed and graceful, with auburn hair styled atop her head in the seeming of a crown. But beauty was to be expected in an empress. What I didn’t count on was her manner of dress. For though she wore a gown of royal yellow, crushed velvet rippling to the ground in waves, she was also clad in a breastplate of polished silver, and she wore a sword at her side. The weapon was more decorative than deadly, but her message was plain.

  “Our Empress had come to San Michon dressed for war.

  “She was surrounded by men- and maids-at-arms, clad in the sunflower yellow tabards of the Emperor. On Isabella’s brow sat a circlet of diamonds, and as she took her place at the front of the room, she looked over us with regal pride.

  “‘Our road has been long,’ she said, her voice low and sweet. ‘But our heart could not be filled with more joy to find so fine a company at the end of it. Deep is the faith we have bestowed upon your abbot, and we see it has not been misplaced. For in each of you, we see a hope that shines with the light of all God’s grace, and through you, shall this land be redeemed from encroaching night. You have our thanks. And more, you have our love.’

  “Isabella gazed about the room, and you could have heard tears falling from an angel’s eyes in that stillness.

  “‘We salute you, Silversaints. May God bless you and keep you safe from all harm.’

  “‘Three cheers for Her Imperial Majesty!’ Seraph Talon cried.

  “A roar echoed in the Library, louder than I’d ever heard. Isabella had spoken for all of a minute, and I swear God half the men in that hall were in love with her. If she had bid us fly to Vellene and throw ourselves at the Forever King with naught but empty fists, we’d have leapt from the walls with smiles on our faces.

  “‘Attend now, Brothers,’ Khalid said, his voice like iron.

  “Silence fell then. The assembled ’saints and initiates, the Silver Sisters who lurked like shadows—all watched as the abbot walked along the peaks of the Godsend Mountains. Raissa, Angel of Justice, and Raphael, Angel of Wisdom. Sarai, Angel of Plagues, and Sanael, Angel of Blood. All fell beneath his silver heels as he walked the length of the realm, arriving finally at Avinbourg. The cityfort sat at the northern end of the spine, barring the way into Nordlund, surrounded by wooden soldiers.

  “‘All royal garrisons along the Godsend are now emptied and marching north to reinforce Avinbourg. A snowstorm has fallen across Talhost, too bleak and dark to see through, even with the eyes we command. Some dark witchery is at work, obscuring Voss’s host. Still, we have no doubt the Endless Legion is on the move.’

  “‘How many do they number, Abbot?’ Frère Alonso asked.

  “‘Ten thousand at least.’

  “Alonso squared his shoulders. He was a mighty man, Nordlund bred, with a great black beard and mane of long hair. ‘Forgive me, Abbot. My Empress. But we are hunters, not soldiers. What good will our number be against so vast a host?’

  “‘None whatsoever, good Frère,’ Isabella replied. ‘Those brave soldiers below and already manning the walls at Avinbourg will bear the brunt of the Legion’s hunger.’

  “‘We are a knife, Brothers,’ Khalid said. ‘Not a sledgehammer. But a creature so ancient as Fabién Voss does not risk himself in the vanguard. Not with ten thousand corpses to throw first. Like all those who fear death, the Forever King leads from the rear.’

  “The Empress nodded. ‘And while Voss hurls his host at the city’s defenses, this silvered company will sail around the mouth of the Cherchant, hit from behind Voss’s lines in the light of the dawn, and with all God’s grace, strike the hollow crown from his head.’

  “‘An ambush,’ Alonso nodded.

  “‘An execution,’ Khalid said. ‘One upon which the Almighty Himself shall smile.’

  “The abbot’s words filled my belly with butterflies. I could see wisdom in the plan; a way our small brotherhood could still deal a deadly blow. The Forever King was oldest of his line, controlling his brood like a spider in the center of a grand and rotten web. With his death, his legion would be thrown into disarray, at least temporarily—easy pickings for the Golden Host. Slaying an a
ncien would be no small feat, but if we managed it, we could end the invasion at Avinbourg’s walls.

  “I spoke up, unable to contain myself. ‘When do we march, Abbot?’

  “Khalid’s eyes met mine. ‘You do not, Initiate.’

  “My belly dropped. For an awful moment, I feared my conduct on the Hunt had cost me my place among the chosen. But the abbot’s gaze swept the initiates, each in turn. ‘None of you do. All initiates will remain in San Michon. Laure Voss is still loose in the Nordlund, and she will seek vengeance. It is unwise to leave this monastery unguarded.’

  “A murmur rippled among the initiates. This was the greatest battle of our age, and we were being left behind? Any sensible lad would’ve kept his fucking mouth shut then, but with a few vodkas in me, I was feeling less than sensible.

  “‘Abbot, I mean no disrespect. But just a few nights ago, you assured me we’d soon be called upon to defend God’s Church?’

  “Talon thwacked his switch on the floor. ‘De León, shut your damned m—’

  “‘Stay your anger, Seraph.’ Isabella regarded me, gaze roaming boots to brow. ‘De León. You were part of that brave company which uncovered the Forever King’s plan.’

  “‘One of four, Majesty.’ I bowed. ‘But I did my part.’

  “‘A lion indeed. We understand your disappointment in remaining behind while others ride forth to fight. But there is no shame in tending home and hearth.’

  “‘No glory either, Majesty.’

  “‘We do not fight for glory, Initiate,’ Khalid growled. ‘We fight for God. We fight to redeem ourselves from the sin of our birth. Mortal accolade is meaningless. When you stand before your Maker, he shall know the role you played in the Forever King’s defeat.’

  “‘Presuming we defeat him.’

  “All eyes turned to the back of the hall. There, outlined against the night sky, stood Frère Greyhand. His jaw was unshaven, hair disheveled. But fire burned in his remaining eye. The great doors swung shut behind him as he strode out onto the map of the realm.